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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22434826">The Shining Ones (The Awakening #1)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/duskpeterson/pseuds/Dusk%20Peterson'>Dusk Peterson (duskpeterson)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dungeon Guards [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>1880s, Alternate Universe - 1880s, Alternate Universe - 19th Century, Alternate Universe - America, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Domestic, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Original, Alternate Universe - Prison, Asexual character(s), Asexuality, Bisexual Male Character(s), Bisexuality, Courage, Disabled Character, Dungeons, Ethical Issues, Gray-Asexual, Guards, Historical slash, Homoromantic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Original Fiction, Original Slash, Prisonfic, Rebels, Recovery, Romance, Romantic Friendship, Self-Discipline, Slash, Torture, abuse recovery, cognitively disabled, don't need to read other stories in the series, dungeon-keepers, grey-asexual, queerplatonic, spirituality, torturers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-01-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-01-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 09:47:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,072</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22434826</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/duskpeterson/pseuds/Dusk%20Peterson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <b>"He was skilled by now at making innocuous remarks in the presence of the Shining Ones. Nobody had even guessed that he knew what they were."</b>
</p>
<p>The Eternal Dungeon is filled with prisoners who shine like the sun.</p>
<p>No one knows this except Barrett Boyd, a guard notorious for having survived a disciplinary punishment that should have killed him. He is also notorious for his rebellion against the authorities of the royal prison. At a pivotal time in the Eternal Dungeon's history, when abusive practices of the past may finally be abolished, Barrett finds himself drawn to the mystery of a younger guard, Clifford Crofford, who claims that he and Barrett are love-mates.</p>
<p>Barrett has no memory of this. He has no memory of anything before his punishment. What does the past matter, compared to Barrett's determination to protect the prisoners? But Barrett cannot ignore his bond with Clifford, and the closer that Barrett comes to Clifford, the more the danger arises that Clifford will question Barrett's sanity. . . .</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/duskpeterson/profile#w">Boilerplate warning for all my stories + my rating system.</a>
  </i>
</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Original Male Character/Original Male Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dungeon Guards [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1614421</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>A Whisper to the  Dark Side, Ace Safe Space, Asexual Stories, Asexual fics, Beside(s) Sex, Bisexual Visibility, Chains: The Powerfic Archive, Historical Fic, Just Friends, Platonic Relationships, Queer Characters Collection, Stove Stories</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Shining Ones (The Awakening #1)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><i><b>Author's note:</b> This is the first story in </i>The Awakening<i>, the first volume in the Dungeon Guards series.</i></p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><i>The year 364, the seventh month. (The year 1883 Barley by the Old
Calendar.)</i><br/>
 
</p>
<p><b>CHAPTER ONE</b>
</p>
<p>He always felt pain after touching the Shining Ones. It was not that
they burned him with heat, although they glowed brighter than the hot-white
heat of the greatest furnace in the world. No, the pain he felt was the
pain of touching something indescribably cold, like the middle of an iceberg,
or perhaps the chill sparkle that lay within the most beautiful diamond
in the Queen's treasury.
</p>
<p>Now he could feel himself trembling. He had deliberately – <i>deliberately</i>
– laid his hand upon a Shining One for ten whole seconds. And not for duty's
sake; if that had been the case, he knew, the pain would have been bearable.
It might have kept him awake half the night, nursing his wounded hand,
but no sacrifice was too great for the Shining Ones, and he knew that his
duty to them required that he touch them – that he touch them, grasp them,
perhaps even bind and beat them if necessary, though the last act always
left him half dead from the pain.
</p>
<p>This time, though . . . He turned to look at Clifford Crofford, quietly
sitting in a chair as he sipped his tea.
</p>
<p>Clifford noticed him watching and smiled. The smile came close to blinding
Barrett Boyd. He always had to be careful not to look directly at Clifford,
for the young man shone more brightly than any of the other Shining Ones.
</p>
<p>"More tea?" Barrett asked. He was skilled by now at making innocuous
remarks in the presence of the Shining Ones. Nobody had even guessed that
he knew what they were.
</p>
<p>"Thank you, sir." Clifford continued to smile up at him. Deep within
the enveloping cocoon of diamond-bright light, Clifford looked like an
ordinary young man – a little plain-faced, perhaps. But his eyes sparkled
with all the colors of the rainbow, like jewels.
</p>
<p>As always, Barrett had to forcibly stop himself from falling onto his
knees, to do homage. "Sugar?" he said. The grains of sugar, each a little
prism in itself, were dull slags compared to the Shining Ones, but he offered
this Shining One all that he could.
</p>
<p>"If I could have some milk . . ." Clifford said tentatively.
</p>
<p>He made no reply – his throat was tight at the prospect of assisting
one of the Shining Ones – but instead leaned over and pulled open the door
of the small icebox that was placed in his room, by virtue of his position
as a senior guard in the Eternal Dungeon.
</p>
<p>Clifford, a junior guard, possessed no icebox. Oh, the ironies of this
world.
</p>
<p>The time he spent retrieving the bottle and pouring its milk into a
pitcher allowed him to recover from the dazzle in his eyes. During the
first weeks after the change, it had taken him a while to learn how to
look upon the Shining Ones. Never directly – that would be both dangerous
and disrespectful. But if he looked just to the side of them, he would
see all that he needed to see. And his duty required that he watch them,
for the Shining Ones were here because, in most cases, they had committed
crimes. Only with the help they received in this dungeon would they be
able to admit to themselves and to others that they had done wrong.
</p>
<p>He still believed that, despite the whip-scars on his back.
</p>
<p>"Biscuits?" he asked Clifford as he placed the pitcher of milk at a
safe distance from the junior guard. Even this close, he could feel the
cold brightness stroking him, like arctic wind – pure, untouchable.
</p>
<p>"Thank you."
</p>
<p>The gratitude in Clifford's voice was so great that it nearly set him
trembling again. He sternly reined in his feelings. He had learned to do
so with the Shining Ones, during those early weeks. True service, true
homage, required that he serve the best interests of the Shining Ones –
which, paradoxically, meant keeping them captive. On the one occasion he
had forgotten this – when a seemingly innocent Shining One had asked his
help to escape the power of an abusive Seeker-in-Training – he had let
himself be fooled into forgetting what he should never have forgotten:
the Shining Ones were here because they were damaged. They were damaged
by their own misdeeds – all but the very few who were innocent, and in
most cases the innocent few were identified quickly by their Seekers. The
guilty ones, the ones who had committed murder or rape, required special
care – in some cases, stern measures – in order to heal to their full brightness.
</p>
<p>He had seen that healing happen. He had seen the dim light of broken
Shining Ones grow brighter and brighter.
</p>
<p>But none shone so brightly as Clifford Crofford, who had never done
any serious wrong, except to demand of Barrett a type of love he could
no longer give.
</p>
<p>"Sir . . ."
</p>
<p>"Yes?" He stood with the plate of biscuits in his hand, feeling foolish.
Whenever he felt foolish – he knew from other people's testimony – his
expression grew truculent.
</p>
<p>Clifford dipped his eyes. Oh, sweet blood, Barrett had scared the younger
guard again. It was so easy to do that. But this time he did not have to
figure out, fruitlessly, how to mend the damage he had done, for Clifford
said, "I was wondering . . . would it be all right for me to call you Barrett?
When we're in private like this?"
</p>
<p>He stood still, uncertain what Clifford's words portended. Finally he
said, in a voice that was flat because he was trying to control his own
fear that matters had gone wrong again, "I don't want you to mistake why
you're here."
</p>
<p>Clifford quickly shook his head. "No, sir. I know you're not inviting
me into your bed. But we can be work partners, can't we? We can work together
to help the prisoners?"
</p>
<p>He felt relief strike him. He wished he could find a way to say, "You
are more precious to me than any of the other Shining Ones." But that would
dishonor the other Shining Ones, and he could not dishonor such beauty.
Instead he said, still flatly, "You don't need to do this. It's not part
of your duties." What exactly Clifford's true duties were, Barrett wasn't
sure of. The young man was a guard, and he acted as though he wanted to
be a guard. That must mean something.
</p>
<p>"But I want to, sir!" Clifford nearly spilled his tea in his effort
to make his point. "To be able to work with you again – to help you fight
to protect the prisoners against abuse . . ." He took a deep breath and
said more steadily, "I want that more than anything else in my life."
</p>
<p>He had to turn away then. He was afraid that he would drop the biscuits.
One of the Shining Ones wanted him . . . wanted him badly. And after all
the times he had hurt Clifford. Sweet blood – what had he done in his previous
life, that he should be granted such a gift?
</p>
<p>"Sir?" Clifford's voice was tentative again. "Did I say something wrong?"
</p>
<p>Blast and blast and blast. Would he never cease hurting Clifford?
</p>
<p>It would have been easier if he could have told Clifford the truth.
If he could have said, "Everyone believes that my brain was changed, and
it's true. Ever since this dungeon's High Seeker nearly beat me to death
for shielding a prisoner against his cruelty, I've seen the prisoners here
in a way that no one else sees them. I've seen the light that shines within
them, as bright as a sun. I've seen how wondrous they are, and how fragile
at the same time. I've dedicated my life to serving them in the only way
I know how. . . . And I am dedicated to you as well. You are the only one,
besides the prisoners, who shines with that deep, bold light. I am your
servant, now and forever. I'll give you anything that I can – anything
that will please you. Anything but the love of a love-mate, for if I touched
you for more than a few seconds, I would die of the exquisite pain.'"
</p>
<p>He had always possessed enough sense not to say that to Clifford or
anyone else. Always, from the first few weeks of his awakening.<br/>
 
</p>
<p><b>CHAPTER TWO</b>
</p>
<p>It had taken him time to notice Clifford, afterwards.
</p>
<p>During the first few weeks after the 101 strokes, his only awareness
had been of pain and anger. He knew dimly that the anger was not merely
for his own sake. Others here had suffered needlessly. Others here needed
to be protected. His own pain had come from an attempt to protect. No one
here was to be trusted, except those he had sought to protect.
</p>
<p>His first sight of a prisoner after he rose from his sickbed nearly
blinded him. Leaving his male nurse nodding off to sleep, he had departed
the healer's surgery and had curiously explored one of the dungeon corridors.
Several dark figures that he passed tried to speak to him; he ignored them.
He was more interested in the iron doors that led off the corridor. He
sensed that treasure lay behind those doors, but he couldn't envision what
that treasure might be.
</p>
<p>A door opened, and through it came the sun.
</p>
<p>He threw himself to his knees. The dark figures, mistaking the cause,
tried to pull him up with their coffin-cold hands, but he threw them off,
blind with the glory of what he had seen. He heard someone say, "Take the
prisoner away." That was how he knew what he had seen.
</p>
<p>He let the dark figures persuade him back to his sickbed. He needed
time to think. As the days passed, he took more and more illicit forays
through the Eternal Dungeon, both the inner dungeon where the prisoners
and Seekers were kept and the outer dungeon where laborers worked and guards
lived. He was aware of carefully swept floors, neatly painted walls, entranceways
to further corridors. But it was always the iron doors that fascinated
him. He waited one day, in the shadow of a corner, to see whether it would
happen again.
</p>
<p>It did. The door opened. This time, the Shining One did not emerge.
He was bound to the wall, being beaten by a dark figure.
</p>
<p>Barrett's first impulse was to kill the dark figure. But he was still
weak in body, and he remembered the consequences of the last time he had
tried to help one of the Shining Ones. He would not survive another 101
strokes. Should he sacrifice himself for the Shining Ones now, or should
he wait for a more important occasion to do so? He forced himself to return
to the surgery and think.
</p>
<p>The next day, the High Seeker visited. There had been many dark figures
calling upon his sickbed, among them a junior Seeker named Elsdon Taylor,
who claimed that Barrett had worked under him in the past. Barrett ignored
them all. But Barrett knew who this latest visitor was. He was the man
who had laid raw stripes across Barrett's back.
</p>
<p>For an attempted murderer, the High Seeker seemed exceedingly mild-mannered.
He suggested that, if Barrett was well enough to rise from his bed on occasion,
he might wish to visit the dungeon's library in order to educate himself
about the world in which he lived.
</p>
<p>It was good advice, despite the source. The next day, Barrett went to
the library, accompanied by his nurse. Barrett's primary purpose for the
visit was to learn what the Shining Ones were. It was already clear to
him that he was the only man in the dungeon who could see the prisoners
as they truly were.
</p>
<p>If he told other people what he had seen, perhaps they would think he
had gone mad; perhaps he would be locked up in an asylum. During the previous
week, a mind healer had carefully quizzed him to check if the 101-stroke
beating had damaged his brain, which left Barrett momentarily uncertain
whether he was actually seeing what he thought he saw.
</p>
<p>Fortunately, the library revealed the truth. Barrett spent every waking
hour there for weeks, chasing threads, until he found what he was seeking,
in the very oldest books.
</p>
<p>The ancient ones had known the Shining Ones.
</p>
<p>It was there, in passage after passage – not only in the love poems
that the translators condescended to translate into the modern tongue,
because they considered light to be a metaphor for love, but in the untranslated
writings as well. The references occurred most often in the speeches made
by slaves to their masters – for the ancient slaves, it seemed, were particularly
skilled in seeing the sweet light that surrounded their masters. They were
valued for this reason; the masters spoke proudly of their slaves' gift
for seeing their true worth.
</p>
<p>But the untranslated writings said that in older days – in days so old
that no books existed from that time – everyone had seen every other man,
woman, and child as a Shining One. All of humanity had shone in those days,
and everyone had received the gift to see the light.
</p>
<p>Humanity had grown blind over the centuries. First the masters had lost
the gift for seeing the light of their slaves, and then the slaves had
lost the sight-gift as well. It had been centuries since any poet had spoken
of the Shining Ones.
</p>
<p>Until now. Now, if Barrett had possessed the gift for writing like a
poet, he could have flooded the world with new images of what it meant
to be granted the gift to see the Shining Ones.
</p>
<p>He spent five weeks seeking the Shining Ones in the books, then three
weeks learning all he could about the Shining Ones, before it occurred
to him that it was odd he knew how to read three languages, since he did
not remember ever learning to read at all.
</p>
<p>In fact – odder still – he had no memories earlier than waking up in
the healer's surgery with his back burning with stripes of agony.
</p>
<p>He made a few attempts to pass beyond that memory. He was able to reach
the point where the flames began; going beyond that moment was too difficult.
All that he could gather was that he had been a dungeon guard in the past,
that he had been punished for protecting his prisoner in a way that went
against the High Seeker's rules, and that he had not cared as much about
prisoners in the past.
</p>
<p>He dismissed then all interest in his previous life. If he had not cared
about the Shining Ones in those days – if he had not worshipped in their
presence – then he was not what he was now: a man whose mission in life
was to serve the Shining Ones.
</p>
<p>The following day, Elsdon Taylor arrived at the surgery again. He said
nothing. But he left a copy of a small black volume at Barrett's bedside.
Reading the book, which was entitled the <i>Code of Seeking</i>, Barrett
began to sense how he might be able to serve the Shining Ones.
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>o—o—o</p>
</div><p>He heard Clifford draw a breath to speak, then fall silent. Barrett
belatedly realized that Clifford was still waiting to hear whether he had
done anything wrong. Blast again. There seemed no end to his thoughtlessness
toward the junior guard. He was about to turn around and say, "No" – that
being the only reply he could think of – but at that moment there was a
rap at his door.
</p>
<p>He quickly checked the clock on the wall. It was still the dawn shift.
He and Clifford weren't due on duty for another hour. He took two steps
over and flung the door open to a corridor in the outer dungeon. "What?"
</p>
<p>Mr. Newman – the junior guard working under him that month – took a
step backwards. Well, perhaps Barrett had been a bit abrupt. It was so
hard not to be angry at the men in the dungeon who were blind to the light
of the Shining Ones. They did follow the <i>Code of Seeking</i> – he tried
to remind himself of that. They followed the Code, that document which
recognized the supreme value of the prisoners' souls.
</p>
<p>And of all the men who had contributed words to the <i>Code of Seeking</i>,
the dungeon's High Seeker, Layle Smith, had contributed the most. There
was irony for you.
</p>
<p>"Er, the Record-keeper asked me to give you this note, Mr. B-boyd."
The junior guard stammered in his nervousness. "There are shift changes
as a result of—"
</p>
<p>He snatched the note and slammed the door in the guard's face. He shouldn't
have done that, he supposed. Mr. Newman was a decent enough guard, and
he hadn't given Barrett any trouble. But sweet blood, how could Barrett
have any respect for men who failed to recognize the full beauty of the
Shining Ones? Especially when many of them whispered behind Barrett's back
that his mind had been irreparably damaged when the High Seeker nearly
beat him to death four years before?
</p>
<p>However much Barrett hated the High Seeker – and his hatred for the
High Seeker was deeper and more implacable than for any other dark figure
– he knew that he owed the High Seeker a great debt for the change in Barrett's
vision that had followed the beating. The High Seeker wouldn't have understood.
Despite the passionate words of service toward prisoners that the dungeon's
head torturer had written in the <i>Code of Seeking</i>, in conversation
he gave no sign of knowing that his prisoners were much greater men than
he or any other Seeker.
</p>
<p>Barrett was surrounded by fools: Seekers and guards who cared for the
greatest treasure in the world, and who failed to realize it. He alone,
the man whose mind had been altered to see what the ancients had seen,
knew that nothing in this world was so important as the prisoners—
</p>
<p>"Sir?"
</p>
<p>He turned slowly. Clifford was still there: one of the Shining Ones,
sitting in Barrett's parlor, with Barrett's teacup in his hand. Sweet blood.
Barrett resisted the impulse to swallow, like a young boy who is suddenly
called upon to host royalty.
</p>
<p>"I'll leave if you want me to." Clifford spoke in a small voice.
</p>
<p>Bloody blades. He should send Clifford away. Every word Barrett spoke,
every action he took, ended up making Clifford suffer. But he heard himself
say, "No."
</p>
<p>Clifford looked down. He, the Shining One, lowered his eyes in Barrett's
presence. This was intolerable. How could Barrett find a way to convey
to Clifford what he was?
</p>
<p>For it was clear that Clifford had no idea that he was a Shining One.
Neither he nor any of the prisoners had guessed about themselves. And how
could Barrett tell them, without being bound and sent to a house for lunatics?
</p>
<p>Clifford said in a hesitant voice, "I've been wrong, I know. I thought
that the only way we could be together was . . . like before. I'm sorry.
I missed seeing what you really wanted: for me to work under you, helping
you with the prisoners."
</p>
<p>What he wanted was to throw himself on his knees before the Shining
One and beg forgiveness for all the harm he had done to Clifford. He tried
again to find the right words. "I . . . need you."
</p>
<p>Clifford's face flashed up, like the brilliant flash of a kingfisher's
wing. His smile was so bright that it made Barrett dizzy. "Do you?" Clifford
asked, his voice filled with hope.
</p>
<p>For once, it seemed, Barrett had said the right thing. "Yes," he replied,
fumbling for some excuse that would explain his hunger to stand within
Clifford's light – to feel the junior guard's light take away some of his
own despicable darkness. "I'm not good at judging character. You are. You
can tell me who to trust."
</p>
<p>He felt relief again as Clifford's expression took on the look he had
seen on the younger guard's face on all-too-rare occasions: the look of
a Shining One who accepts the burden of his gift. For that was Clifford's
great gift: not the ability to recognize the presence of other Shining
Ones, but the ability to tell which of the dark figures in the dungeon
could be trusted. Clifford trusted Barrett – that was extraordinary and
wonderful and filled Barrett with hope that he could somehow make himself
worthy of the honor of Clifford's love. But Clifford also knew who else
to trust, among the dark figures of the dungeon, and it was true that Barrett
very much needed that knowledge.
</p>
<p>"Such as Mr. Taylor?" Clifford suggested.
</p>
<p>"Yes," he replied, relief buoying him up now. "I wasn't sure whether
he could be trusted."
</p>
<p>"Oh, yes," said Clifford firmly. "You've seen how committed he is to
changing the methods by which prisoners here are searched for their crimes.
Mind you, we all make mistakes, but Elsdon Taylor makes fewer mistakes
than most people do, don't you think?"
</p>
<p>A Shining One valuing his opinion. It was almost too much to bear. "Will
he be willing to speak with me again?"
</p>
<p>Clifford laughed. It was a sound like bells ringing in the pureness
of the arctic winter. "You haven't been paying much attention to him, have
you? He has been trying with all his might to heal the breach with you."
</p>
<p>"Has he?" Barrett hadn't noticed. He hadn't thought it important, how
Mr. Taylor regarded him. But Clifford thought it was important, so it must
be. "There are others?"
</p>
<p>"Oh, yes." Clifford leaned forward, his teacup forgotten as he stared
up earnestly at Barrett, who was still standing. "Barrett – Mr. Boyd, I
mean – you have many friends here. Some of them have despaired that you'd
ever return their friendship again, but not all have. They want to be friends
still—"
</p>
<p>"Do you think they might be trained to care about the prisoners?" That
was all that mattered – not whether they wanted his friendship.
</p>
<p>Clifford closed his eyes momentarily. Then he set aside his teacup on
the small parlor-table in front of him and said carefully and deliberately,
"Sir, you're not the only man in this dungeon who cares about the prisoners.
I think you sometimes forget that."
</p>
<p>He dropped his gaze. He wasn't sure why the Shining One was scolding
him; surely Clifford must see that Barrett valued the prisoners more than
anyone else here did. But if the Shining One was displeased with him, it
was because he had done something wrong. The Shining Ones in the cells,
the damaged ones, were too badly hurt in most cases to be able to tell
right from wrong, but Clifford was a different matter. Barrett felt Clifford's
displeasure like the cold heat of snow.
</p>
<p>And then the heat turned to burning ice as Clifford reached up and took
his hand. "Barrett—"
</p>
<p>He snatched his hand back. "Don't touch me!" Waves of nausea rocked
him as his hand – already pained from when he had touched Clifford earlier
– blazed anew. Sweet blood, it was his dagger hand. Would he even be able
to do service to the Shining Ones in their cells tomorrow?
</p>
<p>He wasn't sure what look his expression held, but it was evidently the
wrong expression, because Clifford, who had risen in alarm, took a step
back, as Mr. Newman had. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to— I'll
keep my actions professional from now on. Please don't be angry—"
</p>
<p>This was utterly unbearable. He must tell Clifford the truth, no matter
what the consequences for himself. Clifford was a Shining One, a whole
man, undamaged, and it was wrong for Barrett, a dark figure, to hide the
truth from him – even more wrong to let Clifford suffer from lack of understanding.
</p>
<p>He must let Clifford know what he was. He must let Clifford know that
he was infinitely higher than Barrett would ever be.<br/>
 
</p>
<p><b>CHAPTER THREE</b>
</p>
<p>He had been surprised when the High Seeker hired him to be a guard again.
</p>
<p>Barrett supposed that the High Seeker had done this to prevent further
scandal. Barrett knew by now, six months after his beating, that the High
Seeker had violated portions of his own <i>Code of Seeking</i> in giving
Barrett such a harsh punishment. Whatever the reason for the High Seeker's
change of heart, Barrett entered joyfully into his new service to the Shining
Ones. The dark figures he ignored, except when his duty required him to
take notice of them.
</p>
<p>It was hard enough, learning the rules of his job, figuring out ways
to follow the dungeon regulations without harming the prisoners. The <i>Code
of Seeking</i> gave him ideas, and he had been officially excused from
the duty of helping to rack prisoners in order to elicit confessions. Beatings
were given to prisoners only for disciplinary reasons; guards and Seekers
were under similar discipline, so Barrett grew accustomed to adhering to
that portion of the Code. Most of his work time, he found, was spent watching
Seekers carefully and skillfully converse with the prisoners, firstly to
determine whether the prisoners were guilty, and then to help the prisoners
who were guilty face up to what they had done. All the beauty of the <i>Code
of Seeking</i> lay in those conversations, which were aimed, not merely
at confessions of guilt, but at renewing the souls of the prisoners. The
guilty prisoners who successfully reached the end of that process were
invariably better men for it. With the patient, painstaking assistance
of their Seekers, these prisoners had reshaped themselves until they became
men who cared about the welfare of others, and who were willing to take
responsibility for their past misdeeds.
</p>
<p>And as the months passed by, it became clear that the dungeon was on
the verge of a change for the better, with the possibility of an end to
many of the abuses against the prisoners. Barrett's own punishment had
helped to bring about that revolution, he gathered.
</p>
<p>It was more than three years after his beating, and two-and-a-half years
after he returned to work, when a dark figure stopped him in the corridor
one day and said, "Mr. Boyd, why won't you ever look at me? Have you forgotten
that we're love-mates?"
</p>
<p>He would have walked on. He had vague memories of ignoring this dark
figure before. The dark figure had first come to him at the healer's surgery,
he recalled, speaking softly and shedding tears. It was nothing to do with
him. He had turned his head away.
</p>
<p>But now the dark figure said earnestly, "We pledged our love to each
other. Even if you no longer love me . . . I still love you, sir. I'll
always love you, no matter what. I want you to know that."
</p>
<p>He travelled on to his destination then. But the words stayed with him,
and that night, for the first time in three years, he made another attempt
to pass through the veil of pain that shielded him from the past.
</p>
<p>He saw little beyond that veil. Only himself, holding Clifford Crofford
in his arms as he said with deep earnestness, "I love you. I want you to
keep that thought present in your mind. Remember that I love you and will
always love you."
</p>
<p>So the dark figure had spoken the truth. It was very puzzling. Why should
Barrett care about the welfare of a dark figure, much less make a sacred
pledge of love to it?
</p>
<p>He began to watch Mr. Crofford carefully, covertly, trying to make sense
of what had happened. And the more he did so, the more that the young man
began to shine like a treasure-house of jewels in the morning sky.
</p>
<p>Puzzled, he sought answers again in the dungeon library.
</p>
<p>What he read there did not solve the mystery of the unexpected shining,
but it reassured him about the younger guard's unexpected declaration.
</p>
<p>The books made Clifford Crofford's interest clear to Barrett. The custom
he read about had lasted for centuries. It had originated in the Old World
in ancient times, and then had been transferred to the New World when the
New World was discovered and settled in ancient times.
</p>
<p>The custom was simple: when a young man had passed into his journeyman
years and had thereby reached the eve of manhood, a somewhat older man
– a friend of the family, usually – would be assigned the task of gently
guiding and educating the youth in the duties of his manhood. The guidance
was on many levels, but the most important education took place in bed,
when the youth was taught the art of lovemaking.
</p>
<p>This guardianship, as it was termed, might last several years, or it
might last no more than a year. But it always ended the same way: the older
man would begin courting women in order to marry, while the younger man,
now grown fully into his manhood, would eventually become guardian for
a youth before marrying in his own turn.
</p>
<p>It was a carefully crafted custom which ensured that no man entered
his manhood and his marriage bed without understanding the duties required
of him. The guardianship might go wrong, in the manner that marriages went
wrong. There were even wholesale dissenters to the custom, who argued that
men should share their beds with no one except their wives. But the custom
of guardianship had lasted for thousands of years and seemed likely to
last for thousands more.
</p>
<p>Until he read this, Barrett had possessed no particular interest in
the gossip of the dungeon, though he knew that the gossip about him flowed
particularly thickly. That had nothing to do with his duties. But now he
began to eavesdrop on the gossip, much of which consisted of speculation
as to why the High Seeker had permitted a mind-damaged man to work as a
dungeon guard.
</p>
<p>Barrett patiently waited until that uninteresting topic had been discussed
to death. Eventually, he heard the information he needed, tossed forth
casually, briefly. According to the gossipmongers, Barrett had shown interest
in women in the old days, before his punishment.
</p>
<p>That was everything he needed to know. It was obvious from Clifford
Crofford's age – he was now twenty-six – that Clifford no longer needed
a guardian. And if Barrett – now thirty-six – had begun to court women
before his punishment, then he must have been starting the transition period
during which Clifford would turn his attention to a younger man. Probably,
only Clifford's clear concern about the effects of Barrett's punishment
had delayed the switch.
</p>
<p>Barrett no longer had any interest in marrying – what use would a wife
be to his mission? – but it was obviously his duty to release Clifford
so that the younger guard could continue the natural progression of life
events that most men undertook. All that Barrett need do was make clear
that he no longer held interest in Clifford, and then Clifford would become
guardian to a youth for a few years before marrying.
</p>
<p>Barrett tried. And tried and tried. However gruff Barrett acted, however
cold in manner, Clifford simply refused to go away. And as time went on
and Clifford's shining grew blinding, Barrett could feel his own thoughts
travelling in an unexpected direction.
</p>
<p>He wanted to stay with Clifford. He wanted to serve the younger man
till his death.
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>o—o—o</p>
</div><p>Clifford was silent a while after Barrett spoke. He slowly paged through
the modern editions that Barrett had bought of the ancient books, describing
the Shining Ones. Barrett spent that time examining Clifford's face, as
he might examine the heart of a flame. There were lines on that face which
had not been there even a year ago. Clifford was growing older. His twenty-seventh
birthday would take place soon.
</p>
<p>How many months did they have left together? How many weeks? And what
would Barrett do after Clifford left?
</p>
<p>They would still work together – that was something. Clifford had seconded
Barrett's request during the previous shift that they be assigned permanent
duties alongside each other. But there would be no more knocks on Barrett's
door, no more shy glances from Clifford, no more efforts by the younger
guard to spend as much time as possible with Barrett. All that would be
gone.
</p>
<p>Barrett forced himself to pay attention to Clifford again. At least
he could give the young guard this much: a parting gift of his guardianship.
A gift of trust – a willingness to believe that Clifford would not betray
Barrett's secret to the dark figures who would bind and imprison him if
they knew what he saw.
</p>
<p>Clifford finally raised his eyes from the books on the parlor-table.
In a voice filled with as much awe as though he were witnessing the sacred
cycle of death, transformation, and rebirth, he said, "You've experienced
it too."
</p>
<p>A thrill went through Barrett's body, as if he had touched a Shining
One and felt only the light, not the accompanying pain. "You've seen them?"
His voice was rough with anxiousness over whether he had misunderstood.
"You've seen the Shining Ones?"
</p>
<p>Clifford smiled then. "Not like you have. Not with my eyes. But when
I'm in the presence of the Shining One, I feel it the way you've described:
I feel joy and wonder and a desire to fall down on my knees and worship."
</p>
<p>He had never guessed. In all this time, he had never guessed that the
Shining Ones could recognize each other. Yet it was so obvious, now that
he knew. They were above him. Of course they could see the light that surrounded
their fellow Shining Ones. And it didn't pain them to touch one another.
Barrett had witnessed Clifford touching prisoners time and again, with
no sign that Clifford received pain.
</p>
<p>"Only one, though," added Clifford.
</p>
<p>"One?" He frowned, trying to understand.
</p>
<p>"Only one Shining One," Clifford explained. "I can't see the others,
the way you can."
</p>
<p><i>"Only one?"</i> But there were thousands upon thousands of Shining
Ones in the world – as many Shining Ones as there were prisoners. Barrett
had seen hundreds of them in his work. How could Clifford have missed seeing
the others?
</p>
<p>"Yes, one." Clifford continued to smile. "You."
</p>
<p>The disappointment was so abrupt and acute that it was like falling
off a cliff and smashing to the ground. A moment passed before he could
gain his breath back. Then he said, yet more gruffly, "No. You don't understand.
I'm a dark figure."
</p>
<p>Clifford actually laughed then. The laughter launched from the light
like a shooting star. "Barrett, don't you see? It's right there in the
books that you showed me. We're <i>all</i> Shining Ones – you, me, the
prisoners, everyone else in this dungeon. Everyone in the world. Anyone
who has fallen in love knows what it's like to be devoted to another man
or woman – to feel the glow from their light. But you're one of the few
men in modern times who has been able to see many Shining Ones. You have
a gift, a precious gift."
</p>
<p>Just as he had always thought. And now Clifford Crofford, one of the
Shining Ones, was standing alongside Barrett, against the venomously poison-tongued
guards and Seekers, who thought that Barrett's mind was damaged.
</p>
<p>He had to swallow hard. He felt himself close to tears. He said, his
voice still rough, "So there are other Shining Ones?"
</p>
<p>"Of course there are." Clifford's voice had turned gentle. "Can't you
tell that from what the <i>Code of Seeking</i> says? 'For the Seekers too
are prisoners' – that's the second line of the Code. The Seekers are prisoners,
by royal law; they've taken an oath to remain captive in the Eternal Dungeon
in order to devote their entire lives to helping the prisoners who are
brought here. And the rest of us . . . Well, maybe we don't shine to the
same degree as the Seekers do. But we do try to help. And if you and the
Code are right – if even the worst murderers and rapists in the world are
worthy of service – then that means everyone must be a Shining One. Can't
you see?"
</p>
<p>He shook his head, not to deny what Clifford said, but because he could
not grasp the full import of those words. All those dark figures? All of
them Shining Ones? But he could not see any light from the dark figures
. . .
</p>
<p>Just as none of the other dark figures could see the prisoners' light.
</p>
<p>Leaning his elbows upon the low parlor-table between himself and Barrett,
Clifford said, "It's been so hard for me to explain to people why I can't
leave you. But it's just like you describe. You're wondrous to me. I know
it's not because I've blinded myself to the dark side of you. My mother
warned me about that when I first fell in love. She said that love was
a splendid thing that could help us to see the good in others . . . but
we must never forget that men and women are multifaceted, like a kaleidoscope
that sometimes shows light and sometimes dark. If we don't remember that
the person we're devoted to has his dark side—"
</p>
<p>"Like the prisoners," said Barrett slowly.
</p>
<p>"Yes." Clifford sat back in his chair, with a flounce that seemed to
signify satisfaction. "Like that. We have to remember that prisoners are
a mixture of good and bad. And we have to remember the same about people
we fall in love with, or we aren't truly in love with them. We're only
in love with part of them."
</p>
<p>Barrett stared at Clifford. Dark. He had first seen Clifford as dark.
He had set that memory aside when Clifford began to glow.
</p>
<p>And thereby had set aside part of Clifford himself.
</p>
<p>"Why—?" He had to swallow before he could begin again; his throat had
grown dry. "Why can I see certain men as Shining Ones, but not the others?"
</p>
<p>Clifford chewed on his nail for a moment, apparently in thought. Barrett
made himself think about that nail-chewing. Nail-chewing was a bad habit.
Therefore, one of the Shining Ones had a bad habit. A darkness.
</p>
<p>The glow around Clifford did not diminish. But some awareness inside
Barrett expanded.
</p>
<p>"Here's what I think," said Clifford finally, curling up his legs on
the chair in a manner more relaxed than Barrett had ever seen him. "On
the night that the High Seeker punished you, you must have been thinking
about the prisoners. The prisoner you helped, and the prisoners who might
be helped in the future. They were on your mind when – when your vision
changed. And so you were able to see them afterwards the way they really
are, within the darkness of their deeds. . . . I don't know why you see
me that way. Perhaps it's because you were in love with me, once?"
</p>
<p>His voice ended on a forlorn little note that tore at Barrett's innards.
Barrett said, "I know that you love me. You have told me so. But now that
you are going to marry—"
</p>
<p>He stopped, not because of anything Clifford said, but because of the
astonishment on the young guard's face. "Barrett," said Clifford painstakingly,
"you're misremembering. I was already married – or rather, I would have
been married, except that my fiancée died on the eve of our wedding.
After that . . . Well, I grieved a great deal. I still recall Fae with
a lot of fondness. But then you came into my life, and my grief healed.
I knew that I'd never be unhappy that way again. Because you told me you'd
always love me, and we're in the Eternal Dungeon, where men can mate for
life—"
</p>
<p>He overturned a stool, backing up. Clifford gave a cry and reached out
toward him, then hastily drew his hand back. Barrett found that he was
continuing to back away slowly, as though facing a weaponed prisoner. "For
<i>life</i>?"
His voice sounded angry. He didn't mean it to sound angry. He was confused,
that was all.
</p>
<p>Clifford immediately dipped his eyes, but he seemed to have gained some
sort of strength from their previous conversation, for he said breathlessly,
"Yes. That's how I love you. For life. I know that it's different for you,
since the beating—"
</p>
<p>"I thought I was your guardian." His voice was harsh.
</p>
<p>"Oh." Clifford looked up then, giving him a weak, washed-out smile.
"No. I mean, No, that's not what we pledged to each other, back in the
old days. I don't need a guardian, and I'm not planning to ask a woman
to marry me again, or to ask any other man to be my love-mate. It's not
that I couldn't love anyone else besides you, it's just . . . Well, we're
partners. I don't want to do anything that would hurt you. I love you.
I can't change that, I'm afraid." The note of apology was clear in his
voice.
</p>
<p>This was insufferable. It was as bad as when Clifford had failed to
recognize that he was a Shining One. Barrett still felt the danger beating
at him, like a whip, but he forced himself to walk forward and say, "I
don't want it to end."
</p>
<p>"It?" Clifford looked up at Barrett, his eyes clear and bright.
</p>
<p>"Us." Whatever "us" was. He still wasn't sure. "But . . . I can't be
your love-mate. It's too painful to touch your body. You burn me."
</p>
<p>To his surprise – when would he stop underestimating Clifford? – the
guard nodded. "I know," he said calmly. "I guessed. Or rather, Elsdon Taylor
guessed, and he told me. I'm so sorry, Barrett. All those times when I
touched you, and when I persuaded you to try to touch me . . ."
</p>
<p>"It's all right," he said hastily. Clifford looked as though he were
on the verge of tears now. "It doesn't matter. It was something I wanted
to try. To see whether I could do it."
</p>
<p>His expression calming, Clifford nodded as though he understood. "Trying
to expand your boundaries. Yes, I know. After I realized I was hurting
you, I went to the healer. He was willing to talk to me about you, since
we're still registered as love-mates in the Codifier's office. The healer
said that you would be testing your boundaries, seeing whether you could
break any of them. Seeing how far you could go. And some things you could
change, he thought. He thinks some of your memories might come back as
the pain from your punishment recedes in your mind. But other things may
not change, he thinks."
</p>
<p>It had not occurred to him to pay any attention to what the healer said,
during his weeks in the surgery. The healer was a dark figure. If he hadn't
been, then Barrett would have been tormented by the many times the healer
touched him, dressing his wounds with the coffin-cold hands that dark figures
always possessed.
</p>
<p>Cold hands? Cold, like icy heat?
</p>
<p>Confused by the knowledge that the healer must be a Shining One too,
Barrett said, "He knows that my vision changed?"
</p>
<p>Clifford hesitated, then nodded. "He doesn't know about your seeing
the Shining Ones, I think. But he knows that your mind is . . . different."
</p>
<p>Different. Clifford's voice was tentative, as though he were using the
word "different" as a replacement for the word that the healer had actually
used.
</p>
<p>Barrett knew what that word must have been.
</p>
<p>He began to pace the room, restless. The healer was a Shining One. So
were the others in this dungeon. That didn't necessarily mean that the
healer spoke the truth. The prisoners often lied. But he wasn't a dark
figure, entirely. He had spoken words that Barrett should have listened
to.
</p>
<p>There was a question Barrett needed to ask, right now, to the one man
in the world he was completely sure he could trust. And he was frozen with
fear at the thought of asking that question.
</p>
<p>The question might not have remained in his mind, after all these years,
if it had not been for the dream. The dream that he awoke screaming from,
at least once a week. The dream of stripes of flame against his back.
</p>
<p>He always screamed. Always. Not only here, in the waking world, but
in his dream. Because of that, it was hard to hear in the dream what others
were saying, especially at the end, where the voices faded into nothingness.
But there was one voice, toward the end of that fading, which had seemed
to be concerned. Because of that concern, Barrett had tried over the years
to decipher what the voice had said.
</p>
<p>The voice of a healer.
</p>
<p><i>Stop the beating,</i> the voice had said in the dream. <i>For love
of the Code, stop the beating. Don't you see he's fainted? Stop the beating,
I say. You must release him. He's hanging from the whipping post. He can't
breathe that way. His mind is—</i>
</p>
<p>The final word he was not sure about. Not entirely. But he thought the
final word might be "dying."
</p>
<p>He stopped his pacing. He faced Clifford, as he might have faced a firing
squad. He asked, "Was my mind damaged by the punishment?"
</p>
<p>Clifford leaned forward. There was compassion on his face. He said softly,
"Yes."<br/>
 
</p>
<p><b>CHAPTER FOUR</b>
</p>
<p>He visited the lighted world once. Just once.
</p>
<p>It was after he had begun his wanderings around the dungeon and after
he visited the library, but shortly before he read the <i>Code of Seeking</i>.
He found it quite easy to escape the dungeon. He simply slipped into the
clothes laid aside for when he should be well enough to leave the surgery
permanently, walked through the dungeon until he found an exit, and then
walked through the exit. There was a young guard at the door, in training
from the looks of his uniform, but he glanced at Barrett's uniform with
its high-ranked epaulets and then looked indifferently aside.
</p>
<p>The exit led to a large expanse of lawn and woods, surrounded by a wall.
There was a gate in the wall. He went up to it, and again, he found his
uniform to have magic powers: the guards there opened the gate, bowing
to him.
</p>
<p>Not until he was through the gate, and was standing next to a dark highway,
did he look back. Beyond the gate, beyond the lawn and woods, stood a hill
with a door in it. On top of the hill was a palace.
</p>
<p>He thought about this a moment, recalling a phrase that he had heard
one of the dark figures speak: "royal dungeon." Then he shrugged and turned
away.
</p>
<p>He stood in a vast valley, with mountains before and behind him. It
was night-time. No one was journeying on the highway. But moonlight shone
on the world, and he could see that the highway led to glowing lights.
He walked toward the lights.
</p>
<p>When he reached them, he had a surprise. He knew by now what a dungeon
was. It was where men tortured prisoners in order to learn what crimes
they had committed. He also knew, in some dim part of his mind, that dungeons
existed in the middle centuries. A few of the library books he had encountered
appeared to be tales of wonder, speaking of a world of the future, but
he had ignored them. They had nothing to do with himself, who lived in
the middle centuries.
</p>
<p>The city to which he came proved him to be shockingly wrong. Despite
the lateness of the hour, there was still transport on the street: not
merely horse-drawn carts but horse-drawn cabs and horse-drawn omnibuses
and even a steam-powered streetcar that zipped down the road on rails.
</p>
<p>If these were the middle centuries, they had undergone a most marvellous
transformation. Barrett walked slowly down the main street, examining the
evidence. He passed a train station, a telegraph office, and a group of
women loudly asserting their right to shut down a saloon. Disturbed, he
turned onto a side street.
</p>
<p>The city was quieter here. He passed houses that he instinctively knew
were built in the style of the middle centuries. But the houses looked
quite old. He paused in front of one of the houses, no different from the
rest, except that it had a circle sculpted over the lintel.
</p>
<p>A circle. That was the symbol of faith in this queendom. It signified
rebirth. Where had he learned that?
</p>
<p>Staring at the circle, he tried to make sense of what he had seen, his
mind returning to the Eternal Dungeon's oddly flameless lamps, which he
now realized must be fired by electricity. Evidently he was not living
in the middle centuries. He was living in a time much later, the time that
the books of wonder had spoken about, when men were civilized and had rejected
the atrocities of the past.
</p>
<p>That had terrible implications. For it meant that the dark figures in
the Eternal Dungeon were not torturing the prisoners because they lived
in the middle centuries, at a time when dungeons were new and innovative.
The dark figures were torturing <i>because they had deliberately chosen
to continue doing so.</i>
</p>
<p>He was still taking this in when a door opened and a dark figure ran
toward him, crying out.
</p>
<p>He stepped back. He would have looked around for a weapon with which
to protect himself, except that he recognized in time that the dark figure
was a woman. He mustn't hurt a woman. He wasn't sure why, but the instruction
was there, clear in his mind.
</p>
<p>He could already feel the cold heat of her presence when a dark figure
who had been running behind her grabbed her, pulling her back. The dark
figure, who was wearing the white suit of a cleric, said something briefly
to the woman, who was crying for some unaccountable reason. Then the dark
figure turned to Barrett and began to speak to Barrett, very slowly and
very quietly.
</p>
<p>Barrett turned away. He had seen and learned what he needed to know.
It was important that he return to the Eternal Dungeon and figure out a
way to protect the Shining Ones from the danger they were in.
</p>
<p>He walked back to the palace. Behind him, for some time, he could hear
the woman crying, while her dark companion called out to Barrett.
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>o—o—o</p>
</div><p>Barrett bowed his head. There was nothing more to be said. His fate
had been decreed.
</p>
<p>He had no doubt that Clifford was right. The other dungeon dwellers
might be lying or misled, but not Clifford. Clifford had been his love-mate.
Clifford was manifestly a man of great honor. Clifford would never lie
to him, and he would not make this pronouncement unless he was certain
of what he said.
</p>
<p>For a flicker of a moment, Barrett wondered what he had been like, before
he went mad. Then he wondered why Clifford had continued to love a madman.
</p>
<p>Perhaps he hadn't. Perhaps Barrett had misunderstood everything that
Clifford had said in this conversation. Madmen couldn't think properly
– everyone knew that.
</p>
<p>It was like having the floor abruptly removed from under his feet. Was
anything he thought real actually in existence? Was he even having this
conversation? Perhaps he only thought he was. Perhaps he was already locked
away in an asylum, dreaming the impossible: that someone still cared about
him.
</p>
<p>He forced down the panic. If this was a dream, maybe it would reveal
to him what he should do. Dreams were like that, sometimes. If it wasn't
a dream . . . If Clifford was really speaking, then Clifford was waiting
for a response, concern crystalline upon his face.
</p>
<p>Barrett tried to think what response he should give – what he should
do next. He was a madman. Madmen were locked away for their own good, and
for the safety of others around them. Why wasn't he in an asylum? Why was
he allowed to work with the prisoners?
</p>
<p>He could find no answers to that question. But what he should do was
now clear. He knew he was a danger; he knew what he must do to remove the
danger . . . from the prisoners, and from Clifford.
</p>
<p>The words choked him as he spoke them. "How do I give myself over to
an asylum?"
</p>
<p>He heard Clifford gasp. At that moment, the lights went out.
</p>
<p>It seemed appropriate, though he knew that it was merely one of the
dungeon's periodic blackouts. The electricity in the dungeon had a tendency
to black out briefly, usually when the High Seeker walked too near the
electrical circuits. The High Seeker and the modern world did not go well
together, as Barrett had long since observed.
</p>
<p>The 101 strokes would have been enough to tell Barrett that. The High
Seeker was still living in an era when men thought they could transform
a prisoner into a better man by torturing him into obedience. The rest
of the world had moved beyond that old falsehood, but the High Seeker could
not recognize that.
</p>
<p>These thoughts helped to calm Barrett. He must follow his duty, no matter
how much suffering it caused him. And perhaps it would not be as bad as
he thought. The patients in asylums were prisoners; perhaps they were Shining
Ones too. Perhaps Barrett would be able to help them, even though he was
a prisoner as well.
</p>
<p>But to leave Clifford behind, to never see him again . . .
</p>
<p>There was a scratch of a match, and a flame flickered. Barrett couldn't
figure out for a moment how Clifford had found the matches and candle in
the dark. This was the first time that Barrett had permitted Clifford to
step over his threshold.
</p>
<p>No, not the first time, Barrett reminded himself. Clifford had been
his love-mate, long ago. Barrett had probably invited the other guard into
his room in those days.
</p>
<p>How much had it hurt Clifford to watch his love-mate go mad? Perhaps
it was best, after all, that Barrett and Clifford go their separate ways.
The separation would bring unending pain to Barrett, but it would help
to heal Clifford.
</p>
<p>Clifford had brought the candle over to the table between them. His
gaze was focussed upon Barrett as he set down the candle. Wax dripped onto
the candle-holder, momentarily sparking into light. In the halo of the
candlelight, Clifford glowed more than ever.
</p>
<p>Clifford sat down and placed his hands upon the table, as though taking
Barrett's hands in his. "My love," he said quietly, "I never meant to imply
that you should be locked up. I would fight against any man who tried to
do that to you."
</p>
<p>Barrett waited, confused, but certain that Clifford would provide understanding.
Clifford always did.
</p>
<p>Clifford seemed to be struggling for words. "You're not a madman – not
in any full sense of the word. And you're not a danger to anyone. If you
were, you'd never have been permitted to work with the prisoners. The High
Seeker would have sent you away."
</p>
<p>That made sense. However firm the High Seeker might be in his belief
that prisoners should be tormented for their own good, he was equally firm
that the <i>Code of Seeking</i> should never be broken. Barrett – who had
once broken the Code in order to save a prisoner from greater harm – had
101 scars on his back which testified to the High Seeker's love of the
Code.
</p>
<p>And the Code, by and large, brought good to the prisoners. Most of the
<i>Code
of Seeking</i> was not concerned with torture; it was about the importance
of helping the prisoners to become better men, and about the personal sacrifices
which Seekers and guards must make to help bring about this transformation.
</p>
<p>He voiced the question he'd had before: "Why am I allowed to work with
the prisoners? Even if I'm not completely mad, even if I don't bring harm
to the prisoners, surely nobody would hire a mind-damaged man as a guard."
Yet the High Seeker had done so. And the High Seeker – even his enemies
conceded – was a very intelligent man.
</p>
<p>Clifford cocked his head, as though he were a schoolmaster considering
how best to train a pupil. "Do you know what to do if a prisoner tries
to break free at the moment that his Seeker enters the cell?"
</p>
<p>"Yes, of course I—" He stopped short, struck by the strangeness of his
answer. Yet it was true. Just as he knew how to read, without any memory
of how he learned to read, he also knew how to care for prisoners. That
knowledge was within him, despite his inability to remember how he had
acquired that knowledge.
</p>
<p>"Barrett, you're <i>better</i> at being a guard than before," Clifford
said, passion returning to his voice. "Everyone says so, even the guards
who doubted at first that you could do your duties. You've had twice as
many commendations in the four years since your punishment than you were
given in the many years before that. I don't know why."
</p>
<p>Barrett thought he knew why. He cared about the prisoners – cared more
about them than he had in the past, because he knew that they were the
Shining Ones. Caring more about them, he made a greater effort to care
properly for them.
</p>
<p>He tried to explain this, and Clifford nodded. "I thought it might be
something like that. It has happened before in this dungeon, you know.
There's another very skilled man here who's mind-damaged."
</p>
<p>It took him only a second to realize what Clifford meant. The case was
notorious. "The High Seeker?"
</p>
<p>Clifford nodded vigorously. "He was quite ill some years ago, Barrett
– more ill in the mind than you've ever been. People say that, even now,
his mind isn't quite like normal men's. But I've heard Mr. Taylor say that
this is the reason for the High Seeker's genius. It's <i>because</i> he
thinks differently from the rest of us that the High Seeker has greater
insight into the Code."
</p>
<p>Elsdon Taylor would know; he was the High Seeker's love-mate. Barrett
stopped himself from the impulse to begin pacing again. He would not let
himself give in to the impulse – which he was dimly beginning to guess
arose from the 101-stroke beating – to back away from danger, to stay as
far away as possible from other human beings.
</p>
<p>No. Never again. What Clifford had to tell Barrett was too important
to ignore.
</p>
<p>"Here's how the healer explained it to me." Clifford's voice was eager
as he leaned forward. "He said to imagine a man of great courage and conviction.
A man who has retained his intelligence and his strength of will through
a terrible experience, like war. Because of the wounds he suffered, he
has lost many of his memories. The memories will likely come back, over
time. For now he can't remember his past, but he still has those memories
inside him, so he can act instinctively. He can read, he can take care
of himself, he can even guard prisoners. He can draw upon the knowledge
of his past. He's not a child; he's a full-grown man with years of experience
at the tap."
</p>
<p>Barrett sank down into the chair opposite Clifford, who was absorbed
in his tale. The room began to glow brighter. Clifford, glancing at the
returning electric light, leaned over and blew out the candle. Then he
continued.
</p>
<p>"He's an intelligent man, knowledgeable, but damage to his brain has
affected his vision. It's as though he walks through a fog, seeing objects
blurry, without sharp lines. He can pass a street-lamp, and all that he
sees is a tall pole surrounded by a white glow. That's the image which
the healer used: a glowing figure, shining in the dark."
</p>
<p>Barrett stirred in his seat, but Clifford was hurrying on with his tale.
</p>
<p>"Even with damaged vision, the man has his intelligence and his training.
He can draw upon both to do his work – his long-time work, where he has
lots of experience. He usually knows instinctively what to do."
</p>
<p>Barrett cleared his throat. "What if he encounters something for which
he doesn't have previous experience?"
</p>
<p>"I'm coming to that point," said Clifford quickly. "The healer told
me: Suppose that this man, the man dwelling in a fog that encloses him,
visits the palace above this dungeon. He walks into the throne room. He
has no memory of being there before, and since visiting the throne room
wasn't part of his daily life before his vision changed, he can't tap into
the experience that he uses to do his professional work. All he sees is
a golden glow, where the throne is. The healer asked me: How does he determine
what that glow is?"
</p>
<p>The Shining Ones. The healer was talking about the Shining Ones, though
he did not realize it. Barrett said slowly, "The man finds books to tell
him what he has seen. And . . . he tries to touch the throne, if he can.
If the throne could talk, he'd ask it questions. If it can't . . . he'll
ask someone who knows." He looked at Clifford.
</p>
<p>Clifford nodded. "That's what the healer said: he said you're intelligent
and curious and passionate about the prisoners. You'd figure out what the
foggy objects were, even if you couldn't see them properly. . . . But Barrett,
I think he missed something. Something important. It's not that the fog
<i>distorts</i>
the objects. It just enables the man to see objects in a different way.
To a certain extent, it limits his vision. But in another sense . . . The
man can see the glow. He can see the beauty that is hidden from the rest
of us. And he can tell <i>us</i> what that's like. We can learn from the
man, just as he learns from us." Clifford smiled. "Don't you see? Your
vision isn't just damaged. You're gifted too, in a similar way to the High
Seeker. You do need help to understand how we see things. They say that
the High Seeker rarely strays from Elsdon Taylor's side during his off-duty
hours; he needs Mr. Taylor's guidance. But I'll bet you the highest wager
possible that Mr. Taylor wants to hear about the High Seeker's visions.
The visions that only the High Seeker has seen."
</p>
<p>Barrett spent several minutes thinking. This was too important a matter
on which to make impulsive decisions. But he could understand now why he
had been re-hired. Perhaps partly due to the High Seeker's feelings of
guilt over what he had done – but perhaps also because, having had his
own mind damaged, the High Seeker guessed what gifts could arise.
</p>
<p>It was hard to say the next words. He didn't want to diminish Clifford's
faith in him. But if they were to work together, Clifford must be made
aware of his partner's limitations. Barrett said, "It's hard for me sometimes
to understand what others want of me. And . . . it's hard for me to talk
to them." Because they were dark figures. He had no problems talking to
Clifford or to the prisoners.
</p>
<p>But if Clifford was right, the dark figures were not really dark. He
should learn to communicate with them.
</p>
<p>"I know," said Clifford softly. "I don't mind helping you. I'd like
to."
</p>
<p>Barrett considered the matter, trying to decide what he should do next.
Communicate. That was clearly the next step. Whether or not he ever saw
the dark figures as Shining Ones, he knew now what they were. He must give
them whatever would assist them. Clifford seemed to think that it would
help if he talked to them.
</p>
<p>"Mr. Taylor," said Clifford, apparently following Barrett's line of
thought. "I think you should talk to him first. He has made a lot of attempts
to communicate with you."
</p>
<p>Yes, he had, from the time that Barrett first awoke in the surgery.
Barrett frowned, trying to think how he should approach the junior Seeker.
</p>
<p>"Is there anyone else you haven't talked to?" Clifford prodded.
</p>
<p>Well, the entire dungeon. But as Barrett opened his mouth to speak,
he heard himself say, "My parents."
</p>
<p>Clifford's breath hitched. He leaned forward. "You haven't visited your
home since the punishment?"
</p>
<p>Barrett sat still, barely breathing, seeing in his mind's eye a house
built in the middle centuries, with a circle carved over its lintel. A
woman cried. A cleric called to him. . . . "I went there once. I didn't
talk to my parents."
</p>
<p>Clifford nodded slowly. "I'll come home with you, if you like. I've
always wanted to meet your parents. You told me, a long time ago, that
you'd introduce me to them, the first chance you had."
</p>
<p>Barrett hesitated, but the words needed to be said. "That was when we
were love-mates. I can't be your love-mate."
</p>
<p>"I realize that," Clifford said swiftly. "It doesn't matter. We'll be
work partners, once our transfers are approved. And we're already mates."
</p>
<p>Mates? That was an odd word to use. "Love-mate" denoted partners in
lovemaking, but "mate" was the commoner word for "friend." Yet from the
manner in which Clifford was leaning forward to look at Barrett, it seemed
he was suggesting something more than ordinary friendship.
</p>
<p>Barrett said hesitantly, "I don't want to prevent you from finding a
new love-mate or wife—"
</p>
<p>"Of course not." Clifford's smile was reassuringly quick. "I told you
before: it's not that I can't love anyone else. Lots of men in this dungeon
share their love with more than one person. I just haven't wanted to lose
my ties with you or hurt you."
</p>
<p>"But if your new love thought I was in the way—"
</p>
<p>"They wouldn't." Clifford lifted his chin. "If they did, I'd never ask
them to share their love with me. We're mates, Barrett. Nothing can change
that."
</p>
<p>Mates. Something more than ordinary friends. But something that didn't
require Barrett to give more than he could. A partnership, based on mutual
commitment and devotion . . . not only to each other, but to their sacred
work.
</p>
<p>Barrett decided he liked the word "mate." He smiled.
</p>
<p>For a second, Clifford looked so startled that Barrett wondered what
he had done.
</p>
<p>Then he realized. He didn't smile anymore. He hadn't smiled, ever, as
far back as his memory went.
</p>
<p>Perhaps it was time to extend his memory further back.<br/>
 
</p>
<p><b>CHAPTER FIVE</b>
</p>
<p>The note that Mr. Newman had delivered told Barrett that he and Clifford
were assigned guard duty together that day. This was a surprise – that
their request to work together had been approved so quickly. When he and
Clifford finally parted after the day shift, exhausted but joyful at working
together again, Barrett returned to his bed and fell asleep at once.
</p>
<p>While asleep, he dreamt of the first time he and Clifford Crofford met.
</p>
<p>Twenty years old. Plain-looking. Painfully shy. Not the sort of journeyman
that Barrett would have looked at twice if they'd met socially; he preferred
boldness.
</p>
<p>But the young man was clearly dedicated to his new work. Barrett liked
that. He took the trouble to break through the barriers of the guard-in-training's
shyness, and he even introduced him to other guards in the dungeon.
</p>
<p>On Mr. Crofford's first day of duty, Barrett arrived at his usual time,
two hours before his official shift, to find that the young man was already
awaiting him in front of the prisoner's cell.
</p>
<p>"Who is the prisoner?" Mr. Crofford asked after Barrett had dismissed
the previous shift's guards.
</p>
<p>Barrett smiled. Guards were always like that when they first arrived
in the dungeon: passionate about the prisoners. The excitement wore off
after a while. "You'll find out soon enough."
</p>
<p>Barrett expected Mr. Crofford to ask next, "What crime has he committed?"
It was the obvious question.
</p>
<p>But he didn't. With eyes widened so large that they made him appear
even younger than he was, Mr. Crofford stared at the door. He whispered,
"I hope we're able to set him free."
</p>
<p>Barrett turned to look at the door. He was aware suddenly, as he had
not been for many years, that a man lay behind that door. A man vicious
or frightened or pleading or courageous. A man preparing to face his torturer.
</p>
<p>Barrett looked again at Clifford Crofford. The passion was still there,
shining upon him.
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>o—o—o</p>
</div><p>When the knock came that evening, Barrett was tempted to put his pillow
over his head and ignore it.
</p>
<p>He was still very tired. Thanks to the recent disruptions in the dungeon,
he had been forced to work into the early hours of the night shift. And
not much time had passed since he fell asleep; he knew that, without having
to check the clock in his room. It must still be the night shift.
</p>
<p>What awakened him, in the end, was not the repeated knock, but the memory
of what day this was. It was the day when he began to wake up. It was the
day when he began to be reborn, so many years after his mind died under
the cruel lash of the High Seeker.
</p>
<p>He lay for a moment, testing his awareness. He could remember every
word that Clifford had spoken that morning. He could even remember words
that his fellow guards had spoken to him during the previous shift. He
had made an effort to listen to the guards, knowing as he did that they
were more than the dark figures they appeared to be.
</p>
<p>The knock came again. It must be Clifford; everyone working in the dungeon
knew that Barrett was asleep after an over-long shift. He rolled out of
bed, reaching for his lounging robe. In the past, on the occasions when
Clifford came knocking at his door, Barrett would have taken care to dress
in the most formal manner possible, donning his uniform and weapons.
</p>
<p>While leaving Clifford waiting all that time in the corridor? That had
not been considerate, Barrett decided, hastily tying the belt of his robe.
Besides, the two of them had entered into a new depth of intimacy. They
were mates. Mates could see each other half-dressed.
</p>
<p>Barrett no longer feared that Clifford would misunderstand his reason
for greeting the other guard half-dressed.
</p>
<p>It was not Clifford, though.
</p>
<p>Barrett's first impulse was to slam the door shut. He was not on duty.
Whatever the dark figure had to say, it could wait till a time when Barrett
was fully rested.
</p>
<p>But he paused as he took hold of the door to slam it shut. This dark
figure had never come here before – not within Barrett's memory. Therefore,
the dark figure had come here for some special reason. Perhaps Barrett's
request to work alongside Clifford had raised the dark figure's interest.
</p>
<p>And perhaps his concern? That was a new thought: that others, besides
Clifford, might be concerned about Barrett's welfare. For a second, memories
flitted in and out of his mind, like bats in the night: A dark figure with
him in the surgery. A dark figure sitting silently by his bedside, hour
after hour, as Barrett slowly healed.
</p>
<p>The dark figure said softly, "I did not mean to disturb you, Mr. Boyd."
</p>
<p>He wished that Clifford were here. Clifford would know what to do. But
Clifford had called Barrett his mate, and Barrett knew what that meant.
They were equals. He might need Clifford's help – he badly needed Clifford's
help – but he was under an obligation to try difficult tasks on his own,
rather than simply depend on Clifford's assistance all the time.
</p>
<p>So he tried. He knew better than to head deliberately toward the memories;
that would lead him only into pain. But now he also knew better than to
ignore the memories. So he stood there, utterly quiet, and let the memories
come to him if they wished.
</p>
<p>One memory appeared. It was very brief and not terribly enlightening.
He was walking down one of the corridors in the dungeon. The dark figure
was walking beside him, speaking about a newly arrived prisoner.
</p>
<p>That was all. The conversation meant nothing. But Barrett remembered
also what he had felt, listening to the dark figure: Interest. Concern.
</p>
<p>Respect.
</p>
<p>His vision cleared. The figure before him was still dark. He would always
be dark, Barrett suspected. The darkness lay between them.
</p>
<p>The decision, in the end, was quite easy. He took a firmer grasp of
the door. He took a step back. He spoke with courtesy.
</p>
<p>"Please come in, High Seeker."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><a href="http://duskpeterson.com/cvhep.htm#shiningones">Publication history</a>.</p>
<p>This story was originally published at <a href="http://duskpeterson.com">duskpeterson.com</a>. The story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Copyright © 2016, 2020 Dusk Peterson. Permission is granted for fan fiction or fan art inspired by this story. Please credit Dusk Peterson and duskpeterson.com for the original story.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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